


Stay

by owlaholic68



Series: Fallout NSFW [11]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Development, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Five times that Carla doesn’t stay, and the one time she does.





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One: praise/humiliation kink, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, striptease

“Stop there, Joanne.” Carla crosses her legs demurely. She holds eye contact with First Citizen Lynette, who is standing in front of her, shifting from foot to foot in a rare display of nervousness. “Okay, how are you feeling?”

“Like we should have already gotten on with this already.” Lynette, apparently to hide her discomfort, crosses her arms and glares. “What’s taking so long? Why did you tell me not to get undressed right away?”

Carla raises her eyebrows. “Isn’t patience one of the more important virtues of a leader? Now, to answer your question, I thought that maybe we could do things a little more slowly.” Carla cocks her head to the side, the thrill of ordering someone around starting to burn in her veins. “Joanne, take your sweater off.”

Winter has fallen on Vault City, and Lynette is wearing a sweater over a collared shirt and a pair of dress slacks. Since they are in her private residence, she’s not wearing shoes, just a pair of faded slippers.

Confused, Lynette does so, recognizing the authoritative tone of voice. She stops with her fingers on the buttons of her shirt. “Don’t you want me to remove my shirt too? Or the rest of my clothing? So we can get on with this?”

“Not yet.” Carla gives her a once-over that makes Lynette blush. “Slippers next. Are you wearing anything under your shirt? A tanktop, t-shirt?”

“Just my bra,” Lynette admits, still hotly blushing as she toes off her slippers. “It- you were coming over, I didn’t really plan on this taking so _damn_ long-”

“Shirt,” Carla tightly orders. “Unbutton it, don’t take it off.”

Lynette bristles, but does so, her lithe fingers fumbling. Her dark skin glows in the dim light, supple and smooth. She catches Carla staring. “Great. Now we’re going even _more_ slowly. Can’t we just-”

“Check in,” Carla interrupts, glad that she’s getting so many opportunities to interrupt. A rare treat.

“Green.” Lynette pouts. “We’re not even _doing_ anything-”                     

“Pants. Take them off. I want to _see_ you, Joanne.”

If someone could angrily take off a pair of pants, Lynette accomplishes it. She carefully folds the fabric and sets it aside, then returns to stand in front of Carla, uncertain since she’s realized that _something_ is going on.

“You’re gorgeous.” The words slip out of Carla’s mouth before she has a chance to rein them in. But they do not have the effect that she intended.

“No. Stop it,” Lynette snaps, hackles raised. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Shut up.”

Carla takes a moment to think, then decides to go with the honest route. “No, seriously, Joanne. All – every inch of you, it’s so beautiful-”

“Stop it,” she repeats, this time more forcefully, half-turning away. “Stop – stop patronizing me, h-humiliating me, staring at me-”

“Check in.”

“Yellow – green – I don’t know-”

An unsure answer is a sign to stop. Carla stands. “Lynette, what’s wrong? I was just being honest. Giving you a compliment. What about that is making you uncomfortable?”

“It’s just that you – you’re so sappy about it, just saying ‘oh you’re pretty’, ‘oh you’re gorgeous Joanne’,” she does a bad scratchy imitation of Carla’s voice. “You look at me and really _look,_ and you want to fuck me and not just to get somewhere. You infuriate me and I’ve never been more turned on.” She takes a deep breath and pushes up her glasses to rub at her eyes. She gustily sighs.

This is a very unexpected confession for what is usually a very casual encounter. Carla doesn’t have the slightest idea of what to say. Thankfully, Lynette stops rubbing her eyes and squares her shoulders, staring at Carla.

“Green,” she says, something embarrassed and vulnerable in her eyes. “Go on.”

Lynette asks, so Carla does. “Your wish is my command.” Carla sits back in her chair. Finally, back to familiar ground. “Turn around.” Lynette does so, keeping her head half-turned to look at Carla, showing that she hasn’t stopped blushing. “You have a beautiful ass, Joanne. Now turn around and take off your shirt.”

“My bra too?” Lynette has paused with the straps of the delicate lingerie between her thumb and forefinger.

Carla hums. “Sure. I love the way your breasts fall. So full and soft, and you jump so cutely when I tweak your nipples.”

Almost subconsciously, Lynette’s free hand has gone to the aforementioned spot. She freezes, realizing what she’s doing. Her wide eyes flicker up.

“Do it,” Carla challenges. Is this pushing too far? “Touch yourself like you want to be touched.”

Lynette stares at her, mentally weighing her request. She swallows hard and, with her left hand, cups her left breast and massages a slow circle. With her right hand, she tweaks her right nipple and pushes her chest forward as if to chase her own hand. Her eyes, still locked with Carla’s, have a layer of mortification over them.

“Check in.”

“Green.”

“Do it again.” Lynette does, this time whimpering. Interesting, that she’s rougher with herself than Carla would ever be. “Joanne, you’re gorgeous when you’re like this. Putting on a show for me by doing nothing more than standing there.” Her eyes dart down, then back up. “Of course, it’s obvious that you’re enjoying this too.” That elicits a squeak from Lynette, who instinctually crosses her legs. “Uncross your legs. Take your underwear off.”

There’s a moment where it looks like Lynette will refuse, but she bites her lip and slips her satiny underwear down to her ankles, then kicks it into a corner. She covers her bare chest, then sees the look in Carla’s eyes and uncovers herself.

Carla leans forward in her chair and props her chin on her hand. “Well, if this was a different night, this is where I’d make you scream my name. But maybe I still can, though _I_ won’t be the one touching you. How does that sound?”

She receives a nod in return. “Just tell me what to do,” Lynette says, her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Can do.” There’s so many options here. Carla decides to stick with the simplest. “Touch yourself. But make it teasing. Watching you squirm is so much fun.” Unbidden, Carla’s hand has slipped under her skirt. “Watching you _beg_ would be fun. So touch yourself, good, like that. Now stop.”

Lynette’s chest is heaving, her hand clenched around her thigh. Carla nods in appreciation. “Now continue, please. I wonder if we could dig up a dildo somewhere, or take that vibrator out of storage, so I could watch you just wreck yourself- stop.” She runs her eyes down Lynette’s body. “Continue. But there’s also something satisfying about watching you get yourself off with just your hand, like I’m walking in on something I shouldn’t. Is this what you do when you’re alone, Joanne?”

This continues for several minutes, a constant back and forth of Carla ordering Lynette to stop, then to continue. The intervals of time where Lynette is touching herself is getting shorter, and the pauses longer.

“Please, Carla,” Lynette begs, legs shaking and fist clenched with the effort it takes not to touch herself. It almost looks like she’s going to start crying from the embarrassment of masturbating in front of Carla. “Please Carla, please- please let me – Carla – please I can’t – please-”

“Joanne.” Carla interrupts and stands. Lynette falls silent, staring up at her. She gently cups Lynette’s chin. “Go ahead. You’re gorgeous.”

She’s close enough to hear the soft intake of breath and feel rather than see Lynette’s body go taut, her hips jerking up and her head thrown back. Carla bites her lip and orgasms too.

They come down like they always do: heavy breathing, looking everywhere but each other. Carla wipes her hands on a table napkin and steps back. She picks up her bag and toes on her boots.

“Carla.” There’s something in Lynette’s voice that Carla doesn’t like, something too vulnerable and far too soft, with the slightest hint of accusation.

“Yeah?” She half-turns from the door.

Lynette’s face falls. “Nothing.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for safeword use.

Lynette squirms and Carla pauses.

“Check in.”

“Green.”

Lynette looks gorgeous like this, her legs spread tied to the bedposts with rope. More rope is twined around her chest, the light color making her darker skin pop and her breasts heave with every movement. Lynette squirms again, twisting her wrists in their restraints, which are affixed to a simple belt with a length of rope snaked in between her legs.

The rope is a new thing. Carla had been very surprised when Lynette had written to her in a letter. She had said that she had had a bad experience with one reckless partner and some overly rough rope, and was reluctant to try it again with someone she didn’t trust. But she wanted to try again, with Carla.

So Carla had practiced. She had read up on different techniques, safety procedures, practicing knots during her watch shift, making sure she could tie and untie them quickly. She had even enlisted her bemused companions to help, testing to make sure things weren’t too tight to cut off circulation (with Lenny, whose ghoulish lack of skin made him more sensitive), and making sure Carla could get someone out of a hold quickly (with Marcus, who could just break the rope if she failed). The next time she stopped by Vault City, she was confident in her ability to do a few simpler holds and harnesses. Her confidence had rubbed off on Lynette, who had eagerly asked that they start, immediately.

Lynette asked, so Carla did.

Carla is currently doing what she does best: tease Lynette mercilessly until she finally caves and is forced to actually start asking Carla to do things. Sort of a weird hands-off approach, but it works for them. Right now she’s tracing around the perimeter of the rope, watching Lynette wiggle.

She gives the rope between Lynette’s thighs a quick tug. Lynette gasps and bucks her hips up, groaning. Carla traces around the path of that length, savoring every unwitting sound Lynette makes. There’s nothing the stoic leader hates more than sounding vulnerable.

It’s quiet enough that Carla hears when Lynette’s breath quickens, and not in a good way. The tied-down woman jerks one of her legs, then again, like she’s trying to yank herself out. She twists her wrists, rubbing her delicate skin against the rough rope.

“Check in.” Carla can’t keep the note of concern out of her voice. Lynette hasn’t asked her to do anything, a rare occasion from the usually demanding woman.

“Yellow-” She half-whimpers, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, “yellow – red – I don’t know-”

Full stop. Carla, inwardly panicking but remembering her failsafes, reaches back. She grabs two rope ends hanging out of the ankle ties and yanks hard. Lynette yelps as the knot abruptly unravels. Carla does the same to the wrist restraints, then gets to work on the chest harness, lifting Lynette to a sitting position so she can get it off her more quickly, because Lynette is quietly crying and they need to be done with this _right now-_

“Hey, it’s okay,” Carla reassures, throwing the last of the rope to the side of the bed. She scoops up a nearby blanket and wraps it around Lynette’s shoulders, tucking it close. “Don’t worry, we’re done with that now, we’re all done-”

Lynette curls up in the blanket and Carla’s stomach twists. Yeah, sometimes she gets a kick out of seeing the other woman vulnerable, but not like this. Not when she’s partially at fault, not when it’s not fun and consensual. “Sorry-”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Carla says, turning away to root in Lynette’s bedside drawer. She screws the lid off a small pot of lotion. “We just messed up, is all.”

The tone of Carla’s voice, soft but firm, is enough to coax her into calmness. Lynette trusts her, so she needs to prove herself worthy of that trust. Carla slathers some of the lotion, rich and herbal-smelling, onto Lynette’s hands and wrists, rubbing it into her irritated dark skin. Lynette slowly stops crying, and Carla makes no comment.

“I thought we could do this,” Lynette hoarsely says. “I thought I could try again, because,” she averts her eyes and stares resolutely at her hands, “because I trust you, and you did so much work to prepare and be good at this, but it was me all along that couldn’t – why can’t I just – it’s just rope, why do I freak the fuck out like a crybaby, like an idiot _child-”_

“Shush.” Carla rubs her hands, then puts the lid back on the lotion. “It’s fine. Everybody has their thing.” She sighs, feeling emotionally drained from the huge spike of panic and worry. “Do you want some water?”

Lynette nods, so Carla fetches her some water, then a snack. After five minutes, Lynette starts yawning.

“Hair?” Carla asks. Lynette yawns again and nods. Carla ducks into the bathroom and fetches the necessary supplies. She sits behind Lynette and starts the nightly routine she’s recently become familiar with. First, a handful of oil massaged into Lynette’s scalp, digging her fingers in and making the other woman hum contentedly. Then she starts working Lynette’s thick hair into twists, applying a small amount of product as she goes before tying the whole thing off with an exquisite Pre-War silk scarf.

At this point, Lynette is half-asleep already, drowsily leaning against Carla’s shoulder. “Sappy,” she half-heartedly grumbles. “Overprotective worrywart.”

If anything, that tone of voice proves that she’s feeling better enough for Carla to leave her alone. She shifts so Lynette’s lying on the pillow, tucking the blankets around her curled-up form. “You know it,” Carla quietly retorts. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Lynette mumbles, then falls asleep with one arm outstretched resting on Carla’s thigh. Carla waits until her breathing slows before carefully getting up. She brushes a curl of Lynette’s hair back into the scarf, staying one moment with her hand on the other woman’s cheek.

Enough. Carla turns and redresses, readying herself to leave again.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: pegging, anal play, talking about feelings, the word b**ch is used (talking about people insulting them, not used by either of the characters as an insult to the other)

Carla knows that look. Lynette’s eyebrows scrunch together, her glasses slipping down her nose and highlighting her scrutinizing eyes.

That look means Lynette wants to ask Carla to do something. Carla’s surprised. She’s already been asked to do many surprising things today. Apparently the rope incident had made Lynette even bolder and more confident. She says she trusts Carla with these things more, since Carla was so attentive to her needs, and so practiced and quick to remedy any discomfort.

“I-” Lynette stops herself. “Never mind.” Her face is flushed from arousal and exertion, a few stray curls falling into her face. Her fingers fumble on Carla’s hip as she slowly thrusts forward again. Testing, figuring out what is too much and what is just enough. She whimpers as the movement shifts the heavy plug in her own body. Another one of her ideas.

Somehow, because Lynette can apparently get whatever she asks for without question, she had procured a sterilized dildo and accompanying strap-on harness, plus all of the supplies to make the situation comfortable. _Plus_ a heavy-duty sets of solid butt plugs, all in different sizes. What made Carla grin when she had originally revealed the objects, and her intentions, is the fact that Lynette had to take the initiative to ask someone for these things. Vault City operates on equipment order forms, so somewhere in someone’s drawer, or maybe shredded into a trashcan, is a written record of the request.

“What?” Carla asks. Her own hair is fanned out on the pillow under her head, loose from its usual braids. She raises an eyebrow, keeping her face smooth and even, though the urge to groan and urge Lynette to go faster is making itself known.

“I – I’m not sure I want to be on top.”

“Huh?” Carla frowns. “But you said you wanted to be the first one to use this. Do you want to switch?”

Lynette is already shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, ugh, _literally_ on top. Is there any way we could, I don’t know, flip or something-” She gestures to their bodies.

Ah. _Now_ Carla understands. “You know? I think we could figure something out.”

That’s easier than it sounds, of course. It takes several minutes of readjusting, of bumping elbows and knees, and Lynette’s glasses falling off once or twice, before they finally get into a better position.

“You look gorgeous like this,” Carla whispers as she lowers herself down. She braces her hands on Lynette’s hips, rubbing her thumb in the indent between her hip and leg. “Like a Greek goddess or something.”

Lynette makes a quiet noise and shifts on the bedspread, whining as the weight of Carla’s body puts pressure on the part of the harness pressing against her body. “People usually don’t say that to me.”

“Well, I’m saying it now.” Carla starts slowly moving up and down.

“They usually say that I’m an ugly fat bitch,” Lynette whispers, avoiding Carla’s eyes. “Not to my face, of course. They wouldn’t dare do that. But behind my back, when they think I’m not listening.”

Carla slows and leans forward, internally wincing as the movement puts strain on her legs. She puts a hand on Lynette’s cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “They don’t know you.” Seeing Lynette open her mouth to protest, she quickly adds, “the real you. They only see the persona you’ve forced yourself, that this city has forced you, to become. _I_ know that’s not how you really are. But they don’t know that.”

“Really?” There’s still doubt in Lynette’s eyes, but it’s fading. “You think you know the _real_ me?”

“I know _this_ you, and that’s as close to real as I think we’re going to get.” Carla pulls back and returns to her earlier upright position. “Check in, Jo.”

Lynette’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t protest the nickname. “Green. Keep going.”

So Carla does. Straddling Lynette, she leans back slightly to fumble between Lynette’s legs, blindly reaching until her fingers touch the hard metal of the plug.

While Carla makes deeper noises, every sound drawn from Lynette’s mouth is high and whining. She squirms and cries out in a squeaky gasp, contrasting with Carla’s heavy breathing as she focuses on twisting and fiddling with the plug while continuing to bounce up and down on Lynette’s lap.

Above anything else, it’s the sight of Lynette all spread out on the bed, panting with pleasure, that drives Carla right off a cliff and into a lake where everything is the hot press of her knees around Lynette’s hips, where her world narrows and drowns in the way Lynette bucks up and keens, of the way the other woman’s hands are tearing apart the bedspread with the force of her orgasm.

Coming down, rising up from that lake and back into the real world, takes an effort.

They lay in bed together for several minutes longer than usual, waiting for their breathing to settle. And though they’ve done this before, it’s usually over and done with in the blink of an eye. Carla’s afraid of the awkwardness, of the fact that she’s not really friends with Lynette in a casual way, that they don’t have anything to talk about outside of sex.

So she does what she always does: yawns, stretches, and gets up from the bed. Redresses, feeling Lynette’s eyes on her back. Sits back on the bed to tie her shoes, and looks over her shoulder at Lynette, who is laying on her side looking up at her.

In a rare moment of sentimentality (and how often she has them, Lynette bemoans, how overprotective and sappy she can be), Carla puts her hand on Lynette’s cheek, then lets it fall.

She stands and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got unexpectedly sappy in the middle...


	4. Four

The last time Carla was in this room, she was heart-stoppingly high on a precipice, kneeling before Lynette knowing that she would either fail or succeed, and being frightened of both options. Now, though, she has the clarity of mind to fully take in the space.

Dark wood. Plush carpet (and how Carla remembers that carpet cushioning her knees), a few generic landscape paintings on the walls. Fancy lamps and knickknacks that are probably worth something, but the only treasure in this room, to Carla, is sitting behind a richly dark mahogany desk.

“Oh.” Lynette pretends to be unaffected by her entrance, but her excitement and surprise is obvious in the way she straightens. Her eyes widen and her shoulders, always so tense, loosen. “I – I wasn’t expecting you for another week.”

“Unexpected detour,” Carla admits, letting her bag fall off her shoulder. Her gun belt plops to the floor after it. “Friend got injured, needed to come up this way.” The pit of worry in her stomach is eased with the knowledge that Lenny is now getting some much-needed radiation time to recover from his close call. Gecko was closer than Broken Hills, and the need was urgent.

Lynette stands. “Well, I’ll just let Councilmember McClure know that I’ll be out the rest of the day-”

The sound of the bolt turning in the door cuts her off. Carla’s flair for the dramatic rarely surfaces, but it’s so satisfying to see Lynette’s eyes widen even further and her cheeks turn dark. She sinks into her heavy chair, thick with inlays and carvings. More of a throne than Lynette would be willing to admit.

It’s not a chair big enough for two, but Carla climbs on anyway, with her hands braced on the arms. One leg under the arm, one leg over. She nearly loses her balance and falls, but saves it with a firm hand on Lynette’s shoulder.

In the corner of the room, a clock ticks. Outside in the hallway of the Council building, footsteps and voices are heard as the busy councilmembers go about the business of running a growing metropolis like Vault City. Carla is unable to look Lynette in the eyes, instead staring at the smooth junction of her neck and the collar of her pristine vault suit.

It’s too quiet. It’s too loud. They’re too close. They’re too far away. Her position is both natural and uncomfortable. It’s too intimate and too chaste, sitting here like this. Carla should never have come here. Carla should never leave.

Lynette kisses her in the thick silence between one tick of the clock and another. A slender unmarred hand threaded through Carla’s tangled hair, pulling her down like the setting sun gathers the colors of the sky as a blanket, like Lynette drawing out prismatic emotions that Carla had thought long faded to black.

With a sigh that betrays the true weight of the stress of this last week lifting off her shoulders, Carla drapes one arm around Lynette’s waist and kisses her back. Their bodies ooze together with the unexpected ease of long-comfortable lovers. There’s no bumping of noses, no awkward craning of necks, and Carla almost doesn’t mind the way the edge of Lynette’s glasses dig into her cheek.

They break for air and instead of rejoining their lips, Lynette turns her attention to Carla’s jaw instead, gracing her with the slightest of touches as she moves down her neck. It’s like she’s tapping Carla’s skin with a sparkler, tracing a path that’s driving Carla up the wall. She squirms and holds back a silent moan as Lynette’s mouth pinpoints the crossroads of her ear and her cheekbone.

“I missed you,” Lynette whispers. Carla appreciates that they don’t have to make eye contact for this.

“Yeah.” Carla stares at the wall and sinks her fingers into Lynette’s soft hip. She feels heavy right now, draped across the chair and her lap. She’d left her power armor behind in the car but she’s still wearing a thick leather jacket and beat-up chest piece.

Lynette stops moving. Carla can hear her breathing, Carla can feel her chest rise and fall where it’s squished up against Carla’s body. Lynette’s heartbeat is making her own quicken. She starts to pull back but Carla cradles the back of her head and stops her. They’re curled up together looking over each other’s shoulders when Carla finally finds her response.

“Even though I’m not alone out there,” Carla starts, “even though I travel with friends, I still…” she sighs and presses her nose into Lynette’s shoulder, shoves herself close enough to absorb the soft lotion scent that Lynette’s skin has, so different from her own smoky and oily scent. It’s the dust, the car, the weapons, the armor, the nights spent alone in the desert. “Not alone,” she repeats, “but sometimes I’m lonely. Sometimes it’s not enough.”

“So you come back to me.” Lynette twists together tiny strands of hair on Carla’s neck.

“Yeah. You make it better. Even when – when I don’t like you that much, when I ask myself what the _fuck_ I’m doing here, I still keep coming back.” She manages a smile. “I guess I miss you too.”

Lynette rests her hand on Carla’s thigh. “You can come back anytime,” she promises, too soft for Carla’s liking. It makes something twist in her stomach. “You can stay as long as you’d like. But I _would_ appreciate it if you wouldn’t keep interrupting me at work. I _do_ have a job, you know.”

That’s the semi-acerbic tone that Carla’s used to. It eases that knot that’s starting to rise in her windpipe. “Well, maybe I can keep on distracting you for a little while longer,” she says, and pulls back, dipping her head down. Her fingers find the zipper of Lynette’s vault suit and pull it down just ahead of her lips.

“A little while longer,” Lynette agrees, leaning back in the chair. Her hands tighten in Carla’s hair and her other hand slips under the waistband of Carla’s jeans. Confident, completely at ease.

“We’ll see just how long that’ll last,” Carla challenges. “Not going to be very long if I get you off in less than a minute.”

“You couldn’t.” Lynette lowers her head to glare. “I’m not a fuckin’ wuss like _some people.”_

Carla moans louder than she should in this environment and bucks back against Lynette’s hand. “Oh yeah?” She retorts after regaining her composure. “Fuck you, Jo. You’re on.”

Back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yeah? A month since the last update? 
> 
> More feelings. How can these characters have any more feelings about each other.


End file.
